


Il Tempo Sempre Volgera

by pasiphile



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossdressing, F/F, Femslash, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale come across each other in 18th century Venice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Il Tempo Sempre Volgera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HSavinien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/gifts).



> I’m not a historian, and therefore I humbly apologize for any anachronisms and mistakes.

  
_Venice, 1751_

It would never cease to amaze Crowley just how impractical women's fashions were. Over the centuries she had seen the fashions evolve, stays in all shapes and sizes, ruffles, collars, petticoats, increasingly absurd head-coverings. And always, _always_ the bloody skirts.

But she had found a solution. Crowley checked the fastenings of her mask, wrapped her cloak tightly around her and adjusted her britches.

Of course, the easiest solution would have been to go Downstairs and requisition a male body, but even aside from the mounds of paperwork that would generate, a man's body just wasn't _her._ And besides, being a woman-shaped being had its advantages.

But dear bloody _Someone_ it was cold. And wet. It had been raining for three solid days, and as if that wasn’t enough, the tide was unusually high. Although it still wasn't enough to flood the city like it had the last time Crowley was here, there were still enough unexpected puddles and slippery pavements to be uncomfortable. Most people were still staying inside for now – probably sleeping off their hangovers from the night before – and the only creatures on the Piazza San Marco were the pigeons, cooing inquisitively at the strange swearing human-like being.

 

The flagstones on the San Marco were a death trap, and Crowley was deeply grateful for her sensible boots, soft britches, and complete lack of restraining underwear. Cleavage, that was another thing she didn't miss. She'd walked through enough chilly breezes, covered from ankle to shoulder but with her chest more than half exposed, to last a lifetime. _Several_ lifetimes.

She left the Piazza and went into a narrow street. There was a hard yelping laugh from an alley, and Crowley glanced at it absently. Then she doubled back.

Standing prim and proper amidst half a dozen scantily-dressed prostitutes was Aziraphale, looking very harassed and increasingly exasperated. Crowley leaned unnoticed against the wall and enjoyed the show.

Italy had never really agreed with the angel. Oh, she loved the art and the architecture, but she had a certain dislike for the language and the people. Something about it offended her _sensibilities._

And it was starting to show. Traces of her English accent were seeping into her words, even though Crowley knew for a fact Aziraphale could speak any language fluently – fiery tongues, and all that. Her body language was getting more and more stressed, too.

And then there was her hair. Aziraphale had a habit of running her hands through her hair whenever she was stressed, which meant Crowley could always count on the state of the angel’s coiffure as a reliable thermometer of her mood. And right now it was unbelievably messy.

Any moment now...

And there it was. The angel crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and glared. It was a sight Crowley was intimately familiar with.

But it did not have the desired effect on the ladies of the night. One of them leaned forward and poked Aziraphale in the chest, saying something in a sharp and angry voice.

'Oh, fine,' the angel said, and handed each of her prostitutes some money. They left, chattering cheerfully, and Aziraphale sighed in obvious relief.

It was too perfect an opportunity to ignore.

_'Ciao, belezza!'_ Crowley yelled, pitching her voice as low as she could, _'Quanto costa?'_

Aziraphale whirled around. _'Mi scuza - '_ she started, highly affronted. Crowley grinned wide, perfectly aware of the effect of her too-sharp incisors glinting beneath her mask in the moonlight.

'Oh,' Aziraphale said glumly once she realised who it was that had propositioned her. 'It's you.' And then, with a puzzled expression, 'What _are_ you wearing?'

'Men's clothes.' Crowley pushed off the wall and spread her arms, showing off her attire. 'Much more comfortable. I can actually bend my back in this.'

'But it's hardly decent, is it, my dear?' Aziraphale said with an arched eyebrow.

'Oh, come off it, I know you're not nearly as much of a prude as you pretend to be.' And then, before the angel could protest, she asked, 'So, what was all that about?'

'An assignment. Bringing lost sheep back into the fold, that sort of thing. I don't know why they gave it to me, really.' She sighed. 'I'm not that good at it.'

'You know they'll just spend the money on gin, don't you?'

Aziraphale narrowed her eyes. 'Well, if all you're going to do is criticize me I might as well - '

'Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sure you did your best. Where are you staying?'

Aziraphale's expression went shifty. Six thousand years and she still couldn't manage a decent poker face. Crowley raised her eyebrows. 'Angel?'

'It's not that bad!'

'If that's the only thing you can say about it, it obviously is.'

'Alright, it's a bit... small. And – and mouldy.'

Crowley tilted her head and studied her. Alright, the angel wasn't the tidiest of creatures, but she did need her space – Crowley would never ever forget those nights at Pompeii, when they'd been trapped together with three dozen other people in a tiny cellar, desperately fighting to keep out the ash and the heat. By the end Aziraphale had seemed ready to tear someone's throat out. Or at least get very snappy at people until they left her alone.

But could a demon really play good Samaritan? On the other hand, it could also be considered corruption.

Oh, why not.

'You could stay with me, if you want,' Crowley offered.

The angel blinked. 'That's very... very _kind_ of you, dear, but I really can't accept.'

Crowley manfully ignored the _kind_ and concentrated on persuasion. 'I have a palazzo.'

Aziraphale looked down her nose. 'Indolence and luxury are - '

'There are feather beds.'

The angel twitched. 'I really can't - '

'And the last owner left an enormous collection of antique books behind.'

Aziraphale's resolve finally melted. 'Temptress.'

Crowley smiled. 'Don't I know it. Come on, angel, let me lead you to my den of iniquity.' She offered an arm and Aziraphale's pudgy hand settled into the crook of her elbow. They took off.

'You really do look ridiculous, dear,' Aziraphale said.

'It's Carnevale. I look exactly like hundreds of other people.'

'Don't you think someone will notice something amiss?'

Crowley shot the angel an ironic look. Her favourite shape was not what anyone would call overtly feminine, and beneath the heavy flowing cloak she was practically invisible anyway.

'Do you think I'm the only person who's cross-dressing tonight, angel?' Crowley asked.

'I can honestly say that's a question I've never considered before.' She leaned a little closer to Crowley's side. 'Where are you staying exactly?'

'San Salvador, not that far from the Rialto.'

'Then we need to go left here, don't we?'

Crowley stopped and frowned at the street ahead. 'Right. Definitely right.'

'I say left.'

'Angel, it's my house. I've been living there for four months. I know the way, and it is right.'

'Fine.' They turned right. 'But you're wrong.'

Crowley glared at the angel, who smiled in return.

But that was Aziraphale. She might look and sound and behave like a sweet maidenish aunt, but there was something devious hidden beneath. It was a good thing, really, she would make very boring company otherwise.

'I'm surprised to find you here, at this time,' Crowley said. 'Carnevale isn't exactly the most restrained of festivals.'

'It wasn't my idea. And anyway, Carnevale is a religious festival. The celebration of Lent?'

'Only by the very loosest definition of religious, angel. You'll see soon enough.'

'I _have_ been in Venice before, dear. I know what to expect. Although I plan to stay inside, near the fire, and try to ignore the whole thing.'

'In my house.'

'Speaking of, shouldn't we be there yet?'

'Just this corner and then two more of those narrow alleys, and we'll - '

They turned the corner. They stopped. Crowley blinked.

'Huh.'

'I think, my dear, ' Aziraphale said, voice shaking with suppressed laughter, 'you made a slight miscalculation somewhere.'

And the pigeons on the Piazza San Marco hopped curiously closer to the new arrivals.

***

They did get there, in the end, even if did take several false turns and double-backs. In fact, they kept getting lost, even when they followed Aziraphale's lead, until Crowley snapped and asked someone local for directions. After that they found the San Salvador in less than five minutes.

Crowley led Aziraphale up the broad stairway and pushed open the elaborate double doors of the apartment. 'Welcome to my humble abode,' Crowley said, throwing her arms wide.

Aziraphale looked around curiously. Crowley pulled of her mask and rubbed at her nose. 'Guest bedroom is through there,' she said, jerking a thumb at one of the doors. 'There's a bath there too, if you want.'

'Ah.' The shifty expression of earlier returned, this time with an extra helping of embarrassment.

'Something wrong?'

'No-o, it's just – Would you mind awfully helping me with my dress?'

Crowley wordlessly twirled a finger and Aziraphale turned around. The demon crossed the room and started unlacing.

'Not that I mind helping you out,' she said casually, 'but why don't you just...' She waved a vague hand and dropped it sheepishly when she realised that the angel couldn't see her.

'Er...'

'Aziraphale?'

'I tried, but... Well. I got – tangled.'

'Tangled,' Crowley echoed, struggling to keep a straight face.

'Oh, don't. Besides, you've lost your right to judge.'

'Follow my example, angel.' Crowley finished unlacing and Aziraphale gave a relieved sigh. 'Burn your petticoats and don britches.'

'Not all of us can pull of men's clothes as well as you, dear girl.' She put her hands on her back and stretched with a sigh.

'I'm not sure I like what you're implying there, Aziraphale.'

'Implying? Why would I be implying anything?'

Crowley shook her head and snapped her fingers. A cloud of steam came from the next room.

'Enjoy your bath, angel.'

'Oh, I will.'

Aziraphale went to her room, the steam making her curls stick to her temples.

Crowley watched her retreating back, a little longer than strictly necessary.

***

Once Aziraphale had had her bath and had pulled on Crowley's ridiculously lavish morning gown she went back to the main room. The fire was crackling merrily, but the room was far too large to be easily heated, and Crowley was curled up on a chaise longue, shivering miserably. She hadn't noticed Aziraphale yet, so the angel took advantage of the opportunity to study the demon. It was rare to see Crowley unguarded, after all.

She was still wearing those ridiculous men's clothes, but she had pulled the ribbon from her hair, and the dark heavy coils fell loosely around her shoulders. She wasn't beautiful, Crowley, not the sort of face that inspired painters and sculptors, far too sharp and angular for that. But she was expressive, and whenever she had discovered something new – alcohol, food, an intricate contraption – her face would light up with passion and she would look... not beautiful exactly, but appealing. Attractive.

Not now though, now she only looked cold.

'You could have gone somewhere warmer for the winter,' Aziraphale said.

Crowley flailed in surprise, although she tried to cover it up. 'You're not the only one with orders,' she said. 'Besides, the weather's been fine for the last few weeks, it's only a few days ago that the blessed rain started.' She looked up at Aziraphale from beneath her eyebrows. 'You don't have anything to do with that, have you?'

'Why on earth would I want to make it rain?' Aziraphale asked, puzzled.

'To annoy me?'

Aziraphale gave Crowley an unimpressed look. 'You really think that I'm that petty? And anyway, we have an Arrangement, have we not?'

'We do. Care to move? You're standing in front of the fire.'

'Scoot over, then.'

Crowley opened her mouth, closed it again, and tucked her legs under herself. Aziraphale plopped down at the other end of the chaise.

'At least it's better than Moscow,' the angel said cheerfully.

'Don't remind me.'

'Or Copenhagen.'

'Angel,' Crowley said with a pained expression. Her voice sounded strange.

'Your teeth are chattering,' Aziraphale said slowly.

'I'm _cold,_ in case you haven't noticed.'

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and patted the seat next to her. 'Come over here then, at least I'm warm-blooded.'

Crowley squinted at her suspiciously.

'Go on then,' Aziraphale said impatiently. 'You liberated me from my stays, consider this payback.'

Crowley looked at the fire, at her shaking death-white hands, and scooted over. She burrowed into the angel's side, and there were a few confused moments filled with tangled blankets and pointy elbows in tender stomachs, but eventually they found a position where they were both comfortable.

'How do you usually get out of your dresses, then?' Crowley asked, voice muffled beneath the fur throw.

'My landlady's daughter gives me a hand.'

'I bet she does.'

'I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,’ Aziraphale said prissily.

‘Course you don’t.’ Crowley snuggled a little closer. 'How is London, by the way?'

'They're building a lot. There's a new bridge over the Thames. Oh, the prince died, have you heard?'

'I did. Who's the new heir?'

'The grandson. At least this one's born in England.'

Crowley muttered something. Her limbs were growing heavy.

'Don't go into hibernation again, my dear,' Aziraphale said softly. 'That gave me quite a fright, last time.'

'Won't. I'll wake up again soon, don't you – ' She yawned, giving Aziraphale a perfect view of her too-sharp incisors. 'Don't you worry.'

'I won't.'

Crowley's eyes closed.

***

Crowley woke up with an unusual feeling of peaceful relaxation. She stretched, yawned, blinked, and only then did she notice Aziraphale standing in front of one of the bookcases. She looked like she had been standing there for quite a long time.

'I take it you've found something of interest?' Crowley said drily.

'The treacle Bible,' Aziraphale said, with something close to reverence.

'Take it.'

'What?' Aziraphale turned her head in shock. 'My dear, I couldn't possibly – '

'It's a _bible._ Even with errata it just makes me sneeze. Honestly, you'll be doing me a favour.'

'Well, if you're sure...' The angel caressed the cover of the book with soft fingers.

Crowley smiled. 'Are you going to be around tonight?'

'I might,' Aziraphale said absentmindedly, studying the other books.

'In costume?'

'Well, one does have to do a certain amount of _blending in,_ as it were. So I suppose so, yes.'

'I'll keep an eye out for you.'

The angel hummed and turned around, clutching the bible to her chest. 'I really need to leave now, though.'

'You should have said something.'

'You looked so peaceful.' The edges of the angel's eyes crinkled in a smile. 'I didn't want to disturb. Would you mind playing maid again?'

Crowley gave an affected sigh and stood up. 'I’m tempted to just let you walk around Venice in your chemise, you know.’

Aziraphale sent her an unimpressed look and Crowley rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, fine, go on then.'

The angel stepped into her stays and pulled them up. Crowley brushed aside Aziraphale's tangled blond curls and started doing up the laces in silence.

'Ready?' she asked once she was done.

'Ready for - '

Crowley pulled the laces tight in one abrupt yank. The angel oofed and toppled forwards, hands hitting the top surface of a side table.

'Was that really necessary, my dear?'

'We can't let you walk around in loose stays, can we? Still sure I can't convince you to try men's wear?'

'Quite sure, yes.'

Crowley tied the last knot. 'There. Pretty as a picture.'

Aziraphale turned around and leaned back against the table. The stays were pushing her breasts up and out in a way that was very... aesthetically pleasing.

Crowley looked up and met Aziraphale's sea-blue eyes. The angel pushed off the table and gently squeezed Crowley's shoulder.

'See you tonight, my dear,' Aziraphale said with a smile.

 

***

By the time Aziraphale had done her duties – a bit of divine inspiration, a good deed or two, another rather disastrous attempt to make a few Venetians repent their sins – and got back home, she was feeling tired and itchy and her back hurt. Crowley had pulled her stays slightly tighter than she was used to and it was starting to take its toll.

She stuck her head around the door to the kitchen. 'Maria? Do you have time to help me?'

The girl wiped her flower-covered hands on her apron. 'Si, Madonna Raphaella. Do you have a pretty dress for this evening?'

'No, not yet.'

Maria followed Aziraphale up the rickety stairs. 'I think you would look very beautiful in dark pink. Or maybe blue? Azzurro? Like your eyes.'

'Maybe. Your English is coming along very well, I have to say, Maria.'

The girl beamed proudly.

Aziraphale felt a lot better once the blasted stays had been removed. She went to the small window and breathed in the relatively fresh air. You could smell a hint of sea, here.

Her eyes fell to a clothes line below. There were several men's shirts hanging from it, as well as a pair of breeches.

Maybe Crowley had a point, after all.

***

It was unbelievably crowded and noisy. Loud chattering voices, people shouting greetings to each other over the piazza's, street musicians. Very poor street musicians, for the most part. Crowley glared at one particularly horrible-sounding violin and it promptly tuned itself out of sheer embarrassment. The musician didn't even seem to notice the difference.

Crowley waded through the sea of people. She didn't like crowds much, which begged the question why she came to Venice at the busiest period of the year in the first place. She had her orders, of course, but she doubted the Venetians really needed diabolical assistance to commit thievery, lechery and other sundry sins. They seemed to be managing on their own just fine.

At least the men's clothes meant she had a little more peace than usual. There were still people greeting her, trying to chat to her, clutching drunkenly at her shoulders, but at least no-one tried to surreptitiously feel her up.

At least, almost no one.

She found a relatively peaceful spot underneath a canopy and watched the people. Busy and tiring though it was, there was something glorious about it, too.

There was a loud bang as the first of tonight's fireworks went off. The crowd gave an _ooh_ of admiration and Crowley grinned. Honestly, humans. Who else would think of something as utterly pointless and yet breathtakingly beautiful as fireworks?

Another flare lit up the air, and Crowley noticed someone making his way through the crowd. He was wearing a dark blue coat and a golden mask, but there was something very familiar about –

No. Really?

'Aziraphale,' Crowley yelled, waving an arm.

The angel – because it was her, easily recognizable even beneath the mask and the cloak – turned in surprise and waved back. A few minutes later she had reached Crowley's side.

'Followed my advice, I see,' Crowley said.

'Smugness isn't very attractive, my dear. Although I have to admit you have a point.' The angel frowned. 'But I do miss a certain amount of – of support.'

Crowley glanced curiously at Aziraphale's chest and then quickly looked away. ‘Never had that problem myself, to be honest. Although....' The demon grinned. ‘I’m sure there are many people who’d appreciate your _bounce.’_

The angel turned around. ‘I _beg your - ’_

Another loud bang and the sky went bright purple.

'Do you know somewhere more quiet?' Aziraphale shouted over the noise of the crowd.

Crowley nodded and pulled her along to a back alley.

 

***

Crowley led them to a quieter part of the city – and this time without one wrong turn – and stopped on a small bridge. There was no-one else around, but they had a good view of the San Marco and the fireworks. They could still the crowds in the distance, but there was something almost unreal about it. The muted shouting, the whistle and bang of the fireworks, and as always the lapping of the water, the constant inescapable soundtrack to Venice.

They leaned on the bridge, standing close to each other. Crowley's cloak fluttered against Aziraphale's legs.

The angel looked to the side. Crowley had removed her mask again and she was dangling it loosely over the side of the bridge, her long bony fingers twirling it around. The fireworks reflected off the water, illuminating her face. She was smiling, not her usual quick flashy grin but a small, almost gentle one.

She turned her head and met Aziraphale's eyes. The yellow seemed almost warm for once, pupils large because of the lack of light, it almost made her eyes look human. Her lips parted a little, the smile slid off her face. She looked serious and intent, and – despite everything Aziraphale might have thought before – beautiful.

Aziraphale reached out and kissed her. Her eyes fluttered closed – Aziraphale could feel the demon's eyelashes against her cheek – and her free hand came up to cup the angel’s face.. Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley's waist and pulled her closer, other hand buried in her thick dark hair.

'Well,' Crowley breathed eventually. 'It took you long enough this time.'

'Maybe you could have taken the initiative for once, my dear.'

Aziraphale could feel Crowley's back stiffening under the fabric of her shirt. She smoothed a reassuring hand over the demon's spine. 'Let's go back. Hm?'

Crowley leaned into the angel’s embrace with a wry smile. 'Yes, let's.' They turned, arms around each other's waists, and went on in silence.

***

The first time had been in Babylon, before the tower. They had retreated to each other’s company after several days of manipulating humans - although the tower idea was neither Crowley’s nor Aziraphale’s responsibility, they really couldn’t be blamed if the mortals took one ill-advised comment and ran with it. They’d got drunk – something that was still new and exciting – and Crowley had stumbled into Aziraphale and clutched at her, laughing, and one thing had led to another. The next morning they'd both waken up with headaches and a vague sense of embarrassment. They still were supposed to be enemies, back then, and sex was something that shouldn’t happen.

But it had. And it would again, every odd century or so.

***

The apartment was filled with what Aziraphale could only think of as _essence de Crowley_ , a strange mixture of leather and wool and something citrusy. Strangely enough she hadn't really noticed before. Maybe the promise of, er, _pleasures of the flesh_ gave her senses an extra edge.

Crowley doffed her coat and waistcoat and started fidgeting nervously. All the things the demon had seen and done, and this simple thing still made her nervous. It didn’t make sense.

Or maybe it did. You couldn’t bluff your way through sex. Oh, one might attempt to, and succeed for the most part, but there was always a moment when there was nothing but touch and sound and taste and _honesty._ And Crowley didn’t deal well with honesty.

Aziraphale held out a hand and Crowley crossed the room. She unbuttoned Aziraphale’s waistcoat with uncharacteristic seriousness, The angel couldn’t suppress her shivers every time Crowley’s fingertips casually brushed her skin. She pulled the ribbon from Crowley’s hair and worked her fingers through the thick dark coils. The scent – orange rind and pine, for some reason – grew stronger.

Crowley’s eyes turned to slits, like a pleased cat. ‘Remind me again, why don’t we do this more often?’

_Because you always run away the morning after,_ Aziraphale thought. Although she was determined that this time would be different.

The buttons were done, and Aziraphale pushed the coat and waistcoat from her shoulders, leaving them both in their shirts and breeches. The tension hung heavily in the room, and she could see Crowley starting to go twitchy. But knowing Crowley, she wouldn’t leave it like that for very long.

And sure enough, after a few uncomfortable seconds Crowley gave Aziraphale a lecherous once-over and grinned. ‘You do cut a very dashing figure, angel, although I wouldn’t call it very _male.’_

‘Whereas your calves are far too skinny for those stockings, dear.’

‘Hey, if you’re complaining, you’re free to - ‘

Aziraphale took her hand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

Crowley’s smile faded a little.

***

Crowley pulled of her left stocking, rolled it up fastidiously, and dropped it over the edge of the bed. She started on her right stocking and looked up at the angel.

Aziraphale reminded her more of those pudgy little cherubs than the tall, muscular, very _male_ -looking angels most painters were fond of. Everything about her was soft, soft voice, soft curves, soft curls. Everything except her eyes, which were almost painfully sharp.

Like now, looking at Crowley with an intensity that was doing nothing for her already present nerves. ‘You can stop staring, angel,’ Crowley said irritably, folding her other stocking as well. ‘Or are you just going to miracle your clothing away?’

‘Hardly. There’s something charming about doing it the human way, don’t you agree?’ The angel placidly pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor.

Crowley’s fingers twitched.

‘Well, my dear? Need a hand?’ Aziraphale asked sweetly.

Crowley scowled and pulled off her own shirt. ‘No need, I can undress myself.’ She smirked. ‘Unlike other people.’

‘Oh, shush,’ Aziraphale said, getting onto her knees. ‘I’m out of them now, aren’t I?’ She ran an absent hand through her fuzzy golden hair, messing it up even further, and then patted the mattress. ‘This really is a very comfortable bed, isn’t it?’

‘Yes it is, and it cost me, too.’

‘You mean you actually bought it? I’m impressed, my dear.’.

‘Yes, well.’ She looked away. ‘Angel...’

‘Yes?’ Aziraphale cocked her head. ‘Crowley, if you want to back out...’

Crowley took a deep breath, looked aside, and shook her head. ‘No. No, I’m fine.’

‘Alright then.’ Aziraphale leaned forward and caught Crowley’s lips in a careful, gentle kiss. She slowly backed Crowley into the pillows.

No matter how many times they did this, Crowley always forgot how _intense_ it was. Like the first time she felt the sun on her scales, tasted alcohol, heard human music, so different from the perfect but boring harmonies of heaven. Only the thrill of sex didn’t wear off over time.

She hooked her leg around Aziraphale’s waist and flipped them over, landing Crowley on top. She leaned down and planted her elbows on both sides of Aziraphale’s face. She licked her lips, grinned, and dipped her head to Aziraphale’s throat, who tilted her head back with a happy little sigh.

That was another part of it, of course. Seeing the usually so prim Aziraphale writhe and moan, all because of the things Crowley was doing, had been a pretty interesting experience the first time. And this did change; every time she learned more. Which reminded her, if she remembered correctly...

She bit down on Aziraphale’s collarbone and the angel’s leg spasmed, fingers tightening in her hair.

‘Remembered that, did you?’ Aziraphale said, a little breathless. ‘Minx.’

‘Is that a complaint?’ Crowley shifted and kissed her way down to Aziraphale’s breastbone.

‘No-o, definitely not. Just remember, dear...’

Crowley looked up from where she was hovering over Aziraphale’s breast.

‘Your turn’s still coming.’

Crowley’s stomach flipped. These ridiculous human bodies. Well, she’d worry about that when she got there.

Crowley closed her lips around Aziraphale’s nipple, sharp canines grazing the sensitive flesh. Aziraphale made another noise and pulled at Crowley’s hair to the point of being painful.

‘Ouch,’ Crowley said drily.

‘S- sorry, my dear. Could you possibly do that again, please?’

Crowley grinned and obliged. This time Aziraphale remembered to be careful, her hand gliding to the back of Crowley’s neck as she moaned and sighed.

Really, it was hard to remember why she’d left it so long.

By the time she relinquished her hold on Aziraphale’s breasts the angel was trembling, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks pink. Almost the complete opposite of how an angel was supposed to look. Crowley almost felt _proud._

She went down again, nose against Aziraphale’s soft stomach, free hand searching for a pillow. Last time she’d forgotten and woken up the next morning with one hell of a crick in her neck. She shoved it under Aziraphale’s hips and angled one plump thigh over her shoulder. She took hold of Aziraphale’s hip and brushed her thumb gently over the bone.

‘Darling, don’t tease,’ Aziraphale pleaded.

Crowley pressed a kiss against the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh and nudged her knee aside. ‘Well, if you insist...’ And she licked a slow path from the inside of her thigh to her core.

There were _advantages_ to having serpentine muscle memory. Aziraphale seemed to appreciate that too, judging by the noises she was making.

It might have been over a century since Crowley had last found herself between the angel’s thighs, but memories were coming back as she felt Aziraphale, soft and slick against her tongue. There were things she remembered doing, like a little push __just so, a soft graze of her teeth _just there..._ And besides, the angel was a wonderfully responsive partner, reacting to everything Crowley did with sighs and gasps and moans. It was delightful, and she was almost disappointed when she felt the sudden tensing of the angel’s thighs which meant she was close.

Crowley kept going, carefully watching every reaction. Another sweep of her tongue sent Aziraphale arching of the bed, fingers clenching convulsively in Crowley’s hair. Crowley kept hold of her hips and gently brought her down again.

The Old Man Above had definitely had the right idea when He created orgasms.

Crowley crawled back up and kissed Aziraphale. The angel patted vaguely at Crowley’s shoulder and pulled her down to rest on her breast. As Crowley had discovered last night, Aziraphale made a surprisingly comfortable pillow. She snuggled a little closer, taste-sensing the scent of the angel, ink and soap and dust, and now sweat and sex. It was enticing mixture of divine and profane. Crowley was willing to bet no other angel ever smelled like that. She peeked up at Aziraphale, who was looking dazedly at the ceiling and petting Crowley’s hair.

She noticed Crowley looking and blew out her cheeks. ‘Well, that was...’

‘Nice?’

_‘Very nice.’_ She poked the demon in the side and Crowley looked up, frowning. ‘ Would you mind turning around?’

‘Why - ‘

‘Trust me.’

Crowley averted her eyes. ‘Low blow, angel.’ But she turned onto her side anyway, because...

Because.

Aziraphale kissed the back of her neck and wrapped an arm around Crowley’s waist. It was quite comfortable, having Aziraphale’s softness against her back.

Aziraphale’s nuzzled her throat. ‘Comfortable?’

‘Very. Are you just planning on cuddling, or...’ Actually, cuddling sounded just fine to Crowley. No embarrassing noises, no vulnerability, no risk of accidentally kicking the angel in the teeth like she had done the first time...

On the other hand, Aziraphale’s fingertips trailing over Crowley’s stomach and the underside of her breasts were doing not-unpleasant things to her insides.

She twisted her head and caught Aziraphale’s lips in a sloppy kiss, burying her fingers in the angel’s sumptuous curls.

Aziraphale’s hand slid down Crowley’s stomach and she bit down in surprise.

‘Ow.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘No harm done.’ Aziraphale went briefly cross-eyed, trying to see down her nose, and then the little cut on her lip closed. ‘See?’

Crowley turned back. It was strangely reassuring, not having to deal with Aziraphale’s stinging eyes. Aziraphale’s _hands,_ however, were getting more adventurous by the second. Crowley caught one of said hands and pulled it to her breast. The palm of Aziraphale’s other hand pressed between the demon’s legs and Crowley moaned from deep in her throat.

Aziraphale stopped moving.

‘That was a _good_ noise, angel,’ Crowley said, a little annoyed. ‘It means _carry on.’_

‘Yes, yes, I – I understood that, thank you.’ she answered, sounding distinctly flustered.

‘Don’t tell me you’re – _ghnmph’_ Crowley threw back her head as Aziraphale’s finger slipped inside.

‘Tell me I’m what?’

‘What?’ Crowley said blearily. Her own fingers joined Aziraphale’s and she hissed as she found an especially sensitive spot.

‘Never mind.’

The angel pressed a kiss just beneath Crowley’s jaw. She shut her eyes and tried to concentrate on the feelings, the physicality of it, instead of how bloody _safe_ she felt like this, in Aziraphale’s arms, how good it felt to have someone _take care_ of her like that, how -

‘Damn,’ the angel said suddenly, starting to pull back her hand.

Crowley’s eyes flew open in shock. ‘Do _not_ tell me you’re going to - ‘

‘Of course not, what do you take me for? But my arm’s getting cramped.’

 

Crowley could see Aziraphale stretch her arm from the corner of her eyes. ‘There,’ the angel said with satisfaction, and then Crowley jerked against her as her nimble fingers went back between Crowley’s thighs and the new angle sent a whole different shot of sparks down her spine. She pulled her own hand back and clutched at the sheets..

‘Could you raise your leg just a – _thank you.’_

‘You could try not to sound so bloody _polite_ about it,’ Crowley panted as Aziraphale’s fingers worked inside of her. ‘We’re _fucking,_ angel. Rutting like animals. No need for ettiqu- _oh.’_

‘You were saying?’

But Crowley had gone beyond words. She dug her fingers into Aziraphale’s other arm, and surely she was leaving marks but she didn’t care, she needed something to hold on to because it felt like her whole body was on fire, like she was on fire but in a good way, like -

She stopped trying to think and gave herself over to pleasure, but even then she kept being aware of Aziraphale’s arm around her waist, holding her until the last aftershocks had died down.

She didn’t move for a while after that, waiting until her breathing had returned to normal and she had gathered the courage necessary to face the angel’s all-too-perceptive eyes.

‘Well?’ Aziraphale asked eventually, nudging the back of Crowley’s neck with her nose.

‘I think it was pretty obvious how much I enjoyed that.’ She turned around, landing her practically nose-to-nose with Aziraphale. The angel’s eyes were skipping over Crowley’s face, as if she was urgently looking for something.

Crowley frowned. ‘I’m fine, angel, what is it?’

‘Will you - ‘ She shook her head. ‘Never mind.’

‘Right.’ Crowley brushed an errant curl out of Aziraphale’s face. Her already messy hair had transformed into a spectacular tangled bird’s nest, and it made her look rather adorable. And exactly at the moment when that thought crossed Crowley’s mind, Aziraphale yawned, scrunching up her nose.

Crowley hid her smile. The angel only ever slept after sex, despite all Crowley’s urgings to try it more often. It was therefore a rare opportunity, seeing Aziraphale sleepy and vague and disoriented. A bit like when she was drunk, only without the promise of a headache lurking behind the corner.

Aziraphale closed her eyes and buried deeper into her pillow. Crowley tried to pull away and give her some room, but Aziraphale’s hand kept a very firm grip on her waist.

Oh well.

Aziraphale’s eyes moved behind her eyelids, pale eyelashes fluttering. What would she dream of? Heaven? Old books and fine wines? Babylon, and Athens, and Bruges?

She snorted in her sleep and pulled Crowley even closer. So much for slipping away unnoticed. She could wait until Aziraphale slept deeper and try to make a break for it then. Or...

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s pink mouth, slightly open, at her soft fingers on Crowley’s waist, at the dark pink marks that Crowley had left behind on her stomach and thighs. At her own fingers, tangled into Aziraphale’s curls.

Maybe it had grown time to leave behind the masks.

***

Aziraphale would never grow used to the strangeness of waking up. The way one’s thoughts would bob around, like lanterns on a river, memories slowly resurfacing...

Memories. Crowley.

She opened her eyes and turned her head. The bed was empty.

She struggled with disappointment. Of course Crowley wouldn’t break a centuries-old habit in just one night, of course her instincts would be stronger than anything else, but Aziraphale had really hoped this time would be different.

It would be so _nice,_ waking up next to -

There was a noise, Aziraphale jumped up in surprise, and there she was, Crowley, standing at the window, naked as the day she was – well, not born, obviously.

She didn’t turn around, even though she must have heard Aziraphale’s undignified squeak of surprise. But she was still here, and that had to mean something, didn’t it?

There was a love bite on Crowley’s throat, and she was rubbing at it absently.

Aziraphale cleared her throat. ‘Can’t you make it go away?’

‘Hm?’ Crowley said, still not turning around. ‘Oh, I can, I don’t particularly want to.’

‘Oh. Yes, I see how – Well.’ She fell silent. In moments like this, she never knew what to say, the possibility of Crowley running off always hanging above her head.

'The world's changing again,' Crowley mused, leaning out of the window. ‘Revolution’s in the air. Can’t you sense it? Like something’s...’

‘Something changing? I noticed it too.’

Crowley hummed and leaned further out of the window. Aziraphale couldn’t see exactly what she was doing from her position in the bed, but Crowley seemed to be – throwing something? A loud splash confirmed her suspicions, but what could she have thrown?

‘Get back inside, dear, you'll scandalise the neighbours.'

Crowley finally turned her head. The movement made her thick dark hair tumble over her thin shoulder. 'In these streets? Hardly.'

But when Aziraphale stretched out a hand Crowley pushed off the windowsill, padded over to the bed, and allowed herself to be pulled into the downy softness.

‘I think I’m going back to London,’ Crowley said after a few minutes of comfortable snuggling.

Oh dear. Maybe she had simply postponed her usual fleeing. ‘What about your orders?’ Aziraphale asked carefully.

‘The Venetians are doing enough sinning of their own without my intervention, I doubt anyone Below would notice if I were gone.’

‘Good point.’

‘I, er... I could look after your shop, until you get back?’ she said hesitantly.

Aziraphale stared at the elaborately-gilded ceiling, mind working overtime. Be too enthusiastic and Crowley might back off again, too nonchalant and she would be insulted. The demon wasn’t an easy creature, that was for sure.

Aziraphale finally settled on ‘that would be lovely, my dear.’

It seemed to be the right answer, because Crowley relaxed a little into Aziraphale’s embrace. ‘Ah. Good. I promise I’ll be nice to your books.’

‘Hm. Will I come back to find all my religious texts have turned into licentious engravings?’

‘No.’

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Alright, maybe just one,’ Crowley admitted. ‘But at least they’ll be safe. No repeat of 1666, eh?’

Aziraphale shuddered. ‘Don’t remind me.’

They fell silent. Crowley’s snakelike nature was rearing its head again, basking as she was in the warm Venetian sunlight streaming through the window.

‘What did you throw away just now?’ Aziraphale asked casually.

Crowley stayed silent for a few moments, and Aziraphale was just starting to worry when Crowley said, ‘my mask.’

‘Your... why?’

The demon gave a strange little half-shrug. ‘Maybe it’s time for Carnevale to end.’

‘Carnevale doesn’t end until – oh. I see.’

Crowley hummed. Aziraphale took her hand and weaved their fingers together, slim and tawny next to pudgy and pink.

‘We make quite the picture, don’t we?’ Aziraphale said.

‘That we do.’

Crowley pushed up onto her elbow and kissed the angel, for the first time in recorded – or unrecorded, for that matter – history making the first move.

And all around Venice people woke up after a heavy night of drinking with a miraculous absence of hangovers and a general sense of fondness for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> For the Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2012. Prompt was: "Aziraphale/Crowley - historical femmeslash, any time, any place besides England - any rating, smut welcome!"


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